


Like Flooding Waters

by silverstardust



Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [8]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autumn, Background Relationships, Battling With Depression, Cat Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Comfort/Angst, Depression, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Constipated Snufkin, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Good Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Happy Ending, Healing, I promise, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Original Mythology, Promises, Prophetic Dreams, Recovery, References to Depression, Snufkin gets his shit together, Snusmumriken | Snufkin is a Cat, everyone's trying their best, mentions of a wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:36:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstardust/pseuds/silverstardust
Summary: Snufkin wasn't naive enough to think that after everything that had happened, after all the time that had passed, that everything would be okay, would go back to normal like nothing had ever happened. It would be unfair to expect that of Joxter.But he was starting to get concerned.--July 30, 2020 Update: A heavily edited version of this story is in the works for publication. Any publication of this story or a story similar is authorized.
Relationships: Joxaren | The Joxter & Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Joxaren | The Joxter/Mymlan | The Mymble, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495559
Comments: 17
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

Two parts adventurous, with a splash of music from a foreign, faraway country, and one part sad and tinged with longing.

The music drifted gently into the air from Snufkin’s harmonica. Moomin, next to him but just out of arm’s reach, was lying in the grass, eyes closed and Snufkin couldn’t tell if he was asleep. An Autumn wind blew gently, rustling the still green trees. Distantly, cicadas still hummed, but they were far and few inbetween now, back in their underground burrows until the next summer. Apple trees laid heavy with fruit, and soon the valley would be having their apple harvest, a day or two after Mumble and Too Ticki’s wedding. It was a peaceful Autumn afternoon, and one of the first before Snufkin would leave as Winter arrived.

Joxter had more or less settled back into Moomin Valley with Mymble, but Snufkin was worried. He wasn’t naive enough to expect that, after everything that had happened and all the time that had passed, that there would be a fairytale happy ending. But something just didn’t seem right. There were some days where things seemed like they would be okay, when Joxter was joking around, helping out or causing trouble, or otherwise trying to catch up with everyone. But there were other days that seemed to be more common, where he was silently, unresponsive, resting in Mymble’s rocking chair on the porch, watching Snufkin’s youngest siblings play about in the grass with the same empty look as their dolls.

“Snufkin?” Moomin asked, and Snufkin pulled his harmonica away from his mouth.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want to push so you can tell me to stuff it if you want,” Moomin said and he pushed himself up from the grass, twisting a few of the wildflowers in his paws. “But at the Midsummer party…”

Snufkin frowned, shoving his harmonica into his pocket. He was vaguely recalling the rush and excitement of Midsummer Night, burying his face into the fur of Moomin’s cheek and only realizing in mortified dread what he had truly done later on. He’d been hoping that in the rush and excitement, Moomin had forgotten.

Moomin hesitated and Snufkin turned to look at him. Moomin quickly turned away from him, crushing a daisy into nothing but a mess of destroyed petals.

“Your dad,” he said. “At the Midsummer party. He seemed happy, wasn’t he?”

Snufkin relaxed, leaning against the hill. “I suppose he did seem so.”

“But he doesn’t seem to be happy anymore. Is he okay?”

Snufkin paused, reaching out blindly to rip up a few blades of the tall grass and fiddling with the blades between his fingers. “I’m not sure. I tried asking but…”

The doctor that had visited had only patted his head like a child, and his mother tiptoed around the subject, like either she didn’t know what to say or didn’t want to talk behind Joxter’s back.

“You know how adults are,” he finished.

Moomin scoffed, and Snufkin could tell he’d rolled his eyes by the way his ears twitched.

“Well I think the adults are being stupid about it. We’re old enough to understand aren’t we? They ought to just tell us.”

Snufkin hummed in agreement but didn’t say anything, letting his eyes drift closed. There was rustling in the grass, and when Snufkin opened his eyes again, Moomin was standing up and looking down at him.

“We should check Mama’s recipe book.”

“Wouldn’t they have already checked that?”

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t hurt to double check then. Maybe something was missed!” Moomin reached a paw out, and Snufkin took it, letting himself be pulled up.

Snufkin doubted that his mother would have fetched a doctor for whatever unseen sickness that was affecting Joxter without first going through Moominmamma’s seemingly magic recipe book. But he let himself be pulled along to Moominhouse anyways.

“Not invisibility right? Last time I saw Uncle Joxter he wasn’t invisible.”

“No, he’s visible.”

“So nothing like what Ninny had.”

Moomin ran into the kitchen as Snufkin stopped on the porch, scuffing the mud off his boots before following him in. Moomin carried the thick recipe book back into the dining room, dropping it on the table and pushing it open.

“It’s got to be something else then! There has to be something in here that can help.” As Snufkin sat down next to him, Moomin began to flip through the pages. “Cure to insomnia, hiccups,... chicken pox…”

“And what are you boys up to?” Moominmamma stepped into the living room, leaving the veranda door open to let the Autumn breeze blow in. She settled down at the opposite side of the table, setting out some of the garden vegetables from her basket on the cutting board, and began cutting them up.

“Moomin thought something might have been overlooked in your recipe book,” Snufkin said. 

“For Uncle-” Moomin began, but Moominmamma swiftly cut him off as someone else walked in from the veranda behind them.

“I see. Joxter dear, if you would put those in the kitchen washing basin before you rejoin Moominpappa again.”

“Yes ma’am!” Snufkin’s hat was knocked aside slightly as Joxter playfully ruffled his hair before ducking into the kitchen with another large basket of garden vegetables. Snufkin smiled, righting his hat again as Joxter disappeared back out the veranda. Leaning back in his chair, Snufkin watched as Joxter rejoined Moominpappa in the vegetable garden, laughing at something Moominpappa must have said.

“It’s a good day then?” he asked.

Moominmamma hummed, neatly cutting up some of the winter squash. “Yes, it’s been a good day. But I’m afraid there won’t be anything in there that will help. Mymble’s looked through it front and back a few weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Moomin deflated, looking back down to the recipe book. “We were hoping there was something that was maybe overlooked…”

“Unfortunately, the best we can do right now is be supportive. These types of things will take time, but being here for him is enough.”

“Will he be here for a while?” Snufkin asked.

Moominmamma paused. “Well, I imagine so. Mymble cleared out the last of her garden harvest yesterday, and he offered to help out here to keep busy. I’ve got to stop to start prepping dinner now, but I imagine they’ll be done by sunset.”

“Thank you for having me,” Snufkin said quickly, jumping up from his chair.

“Oh! Snufkin- wait for me!” Moomin shut the recipe book, starting to follow the Snufkin to the front door when Moominmamma softly tutted, making the both of them freeze in their tracks.

“I’m afraid Moomin will have to stay behind this time. You’ve shirked your chores today, the least you can do is help your papa bring in the vegetables.” Moominmamma gestured to her empty basket.

“Sorry Moomin, I’ll catch you later.” Snufkin rushed out of Moominhouse, heading down the path that would lead to his mother’s home.

If Joxter was going to be occupied for a while, this was going to be the best time to try and pry answers.

Mymble was starting dinner as well in the kitchen,, thankfully unaccompanied this time by any of his sisters. Snufkin hopped up and sat down on one of the counters, watching as she basted and bread some river trout before throwing them in a pan.

“Is there something you needed, Snufkin?” she asked him with a hint of humor, passing him a peeling knife.

Taking the hint, Snufkin took the knife and began peeling the freshly washed potatoes in the bucket beside him. “What’s wrong with dad?”

Mymble’s head shot up with alarm, eyes darting to the doorway in the living room. “Don’t-”

“He’s helping the Moomins with their vegetable garden.”

Mymble relaxed, her shoulders drooping slightly as she went back to frying the fish.

“What’s wrong with him?” Snufkin pressed.

“He’s-” Mymble struggled to articulate herself, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “There’s no name for it, not yet. The doctors need to learn more about it before they can name it, but essentially, your father is just… very sad. Sad enough that it affects him physically.”

Snufkin frowned. “But he seems happy. Sometimes.”

“Just because you don’t have a fever doesn’t mean you aren’t sick,” she gently reminded him. “Sometimes he is happy, until he remembers what made him sad, and then he becomes sad again. But because there’s nothing physical that makes him sick, the most we can do is just try and be there for him when he needs us.”

“I don’t understand. You just said he’s sad enough that it makes him physically sick.” Snufkin passed her the peeled potatoes as she set a pot of other vegetables and broth back on the stove. “Can’t we fix that? Or cheer him up until he doesn’t remember why he’s sad?”

“It’s a different type of sad than that. He’s not sad because he had an argument with a friend, he’s sad because he doesn’t feel like he’s been a good enough of a father to you. It’s very hard to forget missing many years of your child’s life, and it’s something he’s going to struggle with for a long time. It’s like…” Mymble paused, chopping up the potatoes and dumping them into the pot. “Imagine a flower field in your head.”

“What?”

“It’s how the doctor described it to me. Just imagine a flower field.”

“Alright…” Snufkin closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cabinet behind him. The first flower field that came to mind was one hidden by the cliff side, and it bloomed in the late spring to the early fall. It was a secluded place where he and Moomin would sneak off to in the middle of the night to chat.

“Now, this flower field is yours,” Mymble began, and swiftly continued before Snufkin could interrupt her. “It’s not actually yours of course, it doesn’t belong to anyone. But people treat it like it’s yours, and you’re free to do with the flowers as you like. Now imagine someone has come to visit your flower field. They stop and chat for a while, and when they leave, they ask for some flowers, and you happily give them some. Still following?”

“Yes.”

“Now someone else has come to your field. They stop and chat for a few minutes, and when they leave, they don’t ask but they take some flowers anyway. Then someone else comes and visits, but they’re a bit clumsy, and they accidentally destroy a few flowers, but they don’t mean to. Then another person comes along, and maybe they’re not in a good mood, so they destroy all the flowers left in the flower field.” Mymble paused. “Now one last person comes to your flower field. They don’t ask for any flowers but you really want to give them one.”

“But the flower field is empty?” Snufkin asked.

Mymble smiled weakly. “Yes. Your father’s flower field is empty.”

Snufkin frowned.

“Mama,” Juniper said, poking her head into the kitchen. “Everyone’s washed up for dinner, and the table is set.”

Mymble turned back to the stove, stirring the pot a few more times. “Everything is about done. Gather everyone up at the table for dinner.”

Juniper paused in the doorway. “Snufkin, are you joining us tonight for once or will you be eating with your boyfriend?”

Snufkin scowled, flicking a piece of potato skin at her. “Shut up.”


	2. Chapter 2

The flower field was luckily still in bloom and Snufkin settled into a patch of grass as the others spread out a picnic blanket before settling down themselves. Snufkin could vaguely hear their chatter but the words didn’t fully register in his head, wordless noise floating as a background to his thoughts.

The wind rushed through the field, just enough to make the heads of the flowers sway, and Snufkin noticed that, as some of the flowers disappeared, picked and gathered by his friends, the violets and lavender were disproportionately missing, their stems neatly cut and the flowers most likely gathered for the wedding in a few days.

Little My said something, but it didn’t quite register. Snufkin snapped the stem of the peony closest to him and passed it to her. It seemed to satisfy My, so Snufkin let himself wander back into his own thoughts as he gathered an odd assortment of wildflowers and weeds into his lap, twisting them stems between his fingers.

His mother had said when the flower field was empty, those were the bad days. If there were flowers, then it would be an at least okay day. Which meant if it was a bad day, perhaps Joxter just needed more flowers.

Snufkin began twisting the stems of the flowers together into a misshapen crown that held no pattern or reason to it as he grabbed plants at random from his lap. It wasn’t the sort of flower crown he’d pass on to one of his sisters, or give to one of his friends, unorganized with random weeds, or small wheat stalks, or a particarly long piece of grass twined in and sticking out in all directions. But it was reminiscent of the wild field the plants had come from, so it was something Snufkin hoped his father would enjoy.

“I’ve never seen you make a flower crown like that before,” Snorkmaiden said, snapping Snufkin out of his thoughts. “It’s so full! How’d you get it like that?”

Snufkin shrugged, tucking a few more daises into the knots before setting it down in his lap. “I just twisted things in where they seemed to fit, I suppose. Nothing too particularly special.”

“It’s very wild looking,” Moomin agreed. “The weeds actually add to it.”

“It was a bit of an experiment. I’m glad it turned out well.” Snufkin paused warily when he caught Snorkmaiden’s knowing grin. “What?”

“Well?” she asked, and when Snufkin continued to stare at her blankly, she gave a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes. “I swear, you’re so dense!”

“I’m not following.”

“You’re supposed to give it to Moomin now, silly!”

Moomin frowned. “He doesn’t have to give it to me if he doesn’t want to. In fact. I think it’d look lovely on the brim of his hat.”

Snorkmaiden rolled her eyes again. “That’s not the point! Snufkin has to learn to stop being so emotionally constipated now that the two of you are dating, and that starts with lovely caring actions like giving each other flower crowns!”A deafening silence fell over all of them, and then Little My, who had been previously peeling the petals off the surrounding flowers, bust into a fit of laughter, arms wrapping around her stomach.

“What do you mean we're dating,” Snufkin finally said.

"Don't be so daft! I helped Moomin write that letter, y'know! You two needed to stop playing dodgeball with your feelings, we were all getting rather tired of it,” Snorkmaiden proclaimed, and Snufkin felt like he was either going to throw up or pass out, the dizziness and the fuzziness of his head at war with the butterflies tying his stomach in knots.

“I didn’t send the letter,” Moomin weakly protested. “I chickened out. I sent a different one.”

Little My gave a powerful wheeze, her face turning red as she struggled to breath in her fits of laughter.

Snorkmaiden’s fur rippled into a pale shade of grey, like a storm cloud on the distant horizon. “You didn’t?”

“I’m leaving,” Snufkin announced, no longer wanting to struggle with his rolling stomach or the inability to form coherent thoughts. He stood up, tucking the wreath over his arm, and began walking away at a brisk pace.

“Snufkin-” Moomin called, but Snufkin broke into a run, taking solace in the cover of the forest.

He continued to run until he couldn’t hear any of them calling after him anymore, and finding his breath falling a little short, Snufkin slowed down to a walk, gathering his bearings. He was close to his mother’s house, and, not wanting to be at his camp when Moomin eventually came looking for him there, Snufkin changed course and starting walking along the path.

The first thing that greeted him was his sisters playing out in the grass with large reed hoops, and he waved when they called out to him, but continued walking towards the apple tree.

Sure enough, his father was up in the branches, resting with his back against the trunk. Snufkin kicked his boots off and dug his claws into the tree bark, climbing up. As he swung himself onto the branch, Joxter lifted his hat and glanced at him.

“Hello, Snufkin.”

Snufkin huffed, settling into a position where it didn’t seem like he’d slip and fall off. “I don’t know how you can just sleep up here without falling.”

Joxter laughed, righting his hat on his head. “Mumriks land on their feet. Well.” He smiled wryly. “Most of the time, anywyas. I think I’ve broken my fair share of bones.”

Snufkin chuckled slightly, shaking his head as he slipped the flower wreath off his arm and held it out to Joxter. “Here. Mom said you were out of flowers.”

Joxter took the wreath, tilting his head forward and slipping the wreath onto the brim of his hat. “Out of flowers?”

“In your head.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you very much, Snufkin.” Joxter tilted his hat back to its normal position, and the two settled into a short silence as he seemed to mull something over. Snufkin let Joxter gather his thoughts, knowing how much he appreciated it himself when others did the same. After a few minutes, Joxter spoke again.

“It’s more like flooding water,” he finally said. “My head, I mean. It’s like I’m standing in a lake, and the water level can be high or it can be low, and people will cause ripples or waves, and I’ve got to keep my head above the water.

“Oh.” Snufkin frowned, glancing to the ground below them. “Do you need me to leave?”

“No. You barely cause a ripple.” Joxter smiled slightly, holding his arms out. “Care to join me for a late afternoon nap?”

“You’d better not let me fall,” Snufkin warned, scooting over on the branch until he was snuggled up against him. Joxter wrapped his arms around him tightly, and if Snufkin felt something land on his cheek, or felt the quivering in the arms around him, he said nothing.

  


  


_The forest trees around him creaked and groaned in the wind, a noise that Snufkin would never grow tired of. The campfire in front of him crackled and popped, and the mug of coffee in his hands pleasantly warmed him. Distantly overhead, the stars twinkled in and out in the inky blackness of the night sky in familiar patterns that Snufkin knew and loved._

_But despite the comfort this would normally bring to him, the familiarity of being out on the road, alone, with really just his own thoughts to accompany him, something felt very horribly off._

_The skin on his back crawled with the sensation of being watched, his eyes darting between the shadows of the forest just out of reach to see if perhaps something might be stalking him, concealed by the bushes. But if anything was there, he couldn’t see it._

_The trees creaked and groaned as the wind blew again, branches bending at the force. Snufkin gripped his mug tighter, shuddering and curling in on himself._

_And then the tree moved._

_It was slow at first, barely noticeable as it swayed from side to side. But a tree that had been off in the distance had moved to just a stone’s throw away from Snufkin’s camp, gnarled bark snapping and creaking and grinding against itself like a tree branch crashing to the earth, split from the trunk of the tree, and whatever it was towered over Snufkin. The entire creature was covered in the same gnarled bark, scraps of decaying leaves and twigs and scraps of fabric hanging from its frame, and as Snufkin trailed his eyes up the creature, he was greeted with a disfigured, grotesque mask of wood, moss hanging in dreads around it like hair. From the holes in the bark mask, a thick black oil dripped like tears, running down the monster’s face and dripping from its chin, splattering to the ground._

_Snufkin threw himself away from his campfire as the colossus groaned in distress, turning tail and bolting away. The forest around him screamed and crashed like it was being flattened by a raging storm, even though it had become practically frozen in time around him. The disfigured colossus shook the earth with every step as it calmly followed after him, leaving a trail of black oily tears splattered on the ground behind it._

_Snufkin ran until his legs and lungs burned, and the sight of a familiar bridge greeted him, and he was halfway across it when he froze in his tracks, looking up to the hill._

_Where Moominhouse had once stood was just a few errant bricks, the blue paint faded and chipped away by the elements, a monument to something erased away. Snufkin choked on his tongue, gripping the railing of the bridge as he stared at the hill in disbelief. Nothing remained of the valley beyond the hill other than long forgotten rubble that seemed to have been there for decades, worn away by the wind and the elements, crumbled apart by the plants overtaking it._

_The colossus approached from behind Snufkin, and he craned his neck to look up and see it. The colossus gave another distressed noise, joints creaking and smash as it leaned down, its hand reaching out for him-_

  


  


Snufkin sat up, clutching at his coat. He was in his makeshift bed in the attic, although he didn’t remember having ever come up here that day. He pushed his blanket aside, shucking his coat aside and swapping it for his nightshirt- no wonder why he’d felt so hot by the campfire in his dreams.

Judging from the darkness outside his window, Snufkin assumed it must have been late into the night, but he had the feeling he would not be sleeping any time soon.

He glanced out the window again, and his fur stood on end as he saw the face of the wooden colossus stare back at him, but when he had blinked, it was gone.Snufkin shuddered, opening the attic door and unfolding the ladder before carefully climbing down and heading downstairs. He froze in the living room when he heard a noise come from the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Hold on,” his father called from the kitchen, “I’ll light a lantern for you.”

Snufkin relaxed, poking his head into the kitchen. “No need, I can see.”

Joxter set the unlit lantern back on the table, an odd look of pride and surprise on his face. “I didn’t know you had night eyes.”

“I can’t see very far, but I can see,” Snufkin explained, stepping into the kitchen and sitting in one of the chairs. “Why are you up so late?”

“I could ask the same.” Joxter picked up a kettle from the stove top, blowing out the flame as he poured the boiling water into a mug, before grabbing a second one and filling that one as well. “Couldn’t sleep is all.”

Snufkin thought it over, trying to find a way to describe the dream he had had as Joxter passed him a mug of tea. Finally, he settled on, “The trees were moving.”

He expected an odd look from his father, or a witty comment, but Joxter just nodded, stirring honey into his mug.

“Yes, dreaming of Cypress is always terrifying.”

“Cypress?”

“The tree monster. Or colossus, or god, whatever he prefers to be called if he has a preference.” Joxter took a quick sip from his mug, wincing slightly when he burned his tongue. “Seeing him in dreams usually represents the fear of letting go of something or being let go of, or being left behind or being forgotten and those who are forgotten. Stuff like that. I used to dream of him a lot.”

Snufkin pressed his lips together tightly, not saying a word. He tore his gaze away from Joxter, looking down into his mug of tea.

“I’m here if you want to talk,” Joxter offered. “If you’d like. I don’t mean to pressure you.”

“Theoretically,” Snufkin began weakly, “Let’s say someone might have done something to their best friend that can be misconstrued as a romantic thing. And neither of them have talked about it. Theoretically.”

Joxter’s eyebrows raised. “And, theoretically, how long ago did this thing happen?”

“A few months. Probably.”

“Well, then in my experience, I’d say that all boys are stupid, particularly young boys, no offense, and they ought to talk about the things that bother them with each other before they get into a rather large argument and blow up.”

“Theoretically.”

“Yes, of course.”

Snufkin nodded, looking up from his mug again. Joxter sighed softly and leaned over to ruffle his hair.

“I’m scared,” Snufkin whispered. “I love him, but I don’t love him enough to sacrifice everything that I am, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell him no.”

“It’s not that much of a compromise if you already spend three seasons out of four here in the valley,” Joxter said, and when Snufkin snapped his head back to Joxter with a scowl, ready to retort, Joxter held up his hands in a placating manner.

“I didn’t mean that as a jab, I’m sorry. What I do mean is- you already spend three seasons here in the valley, and when you do need to leave, while he may be sad, he understands your needs and doesn’t hassle you. He can’t ask any more from you, and he knows that.”

Snufkin drooped slightly, and Joxter rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

“How did you ever decide to do that?” Snufkin asked quietly. “You loved traveling. And you gave that all up to stay here in the valley. Even now sometimes I have to leave early in the fall, or take small trips in the summer to feel sane.”

Joxter took their empty mugs, setting them in the water basin and beginning to wash them. “Nothing ever really felt like a compromise when it came to your mother. Mumriks never choose a permanent place to lay their head, but your mother is the closest I’ll ever allow myself to using the word ‘home’.” Joxter took the mugs back out of the basin, drying them and putting them back in the cabinet he’d grabbed them from. “To me, she’s the vastness of the world- she’s every forest I’ve dared to explore, every adventure I’ve ever experienced, everything from the soil beneath my feet to the tallest redwood I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I am but a small and insignificant beetle helplessly in awe and helplessly in love with it all.”

“Oh,” Snufkin said softly, and Joxter smiled knowingly, drying his hands on one of the kitchen towels.

“Go back to bed, Snuf. You look exhausted.”

Snufkin nodded, rubbing his eyes as he left the kitchen.

“Snufkin,” Joxter called suddenly, and Snufkin paused halfway up the stairs, looking back to him.

“I am proud of you,” Joxter said, and Snufkin knew it was something he really ought not to say but he couldn’t stop himself as the words slipped out.

“How can you be? You barely know who I am.”

“I don’t have to know you to know that I will always be proud of you,” Joxter said, and Snufkin swallowed the lump in his throat, heading back upstairs to the attic.


	3. Chapter 3

Snufkin had never seen his sister look so happy.

Mumble sat at the middle of the largest table with the rest of the wedding party, with Too Ticki directly next to her, the two of them feeding each other bites of cake. Everything had gone just as they had been painstakingly planned, and the whole town was here to celebrate their marriage. But the crowd and the noise had driven Snufkin to one of the empty tables towards the edge of the party, picking at the slice of cake he’d been given, the buttercream frosting too rich for his tongue and too heavy for his stomach. Every time he shifted his head, out of the corners of his eyes, he could catch glimpses of the small purple wildflowers that had been knotted into his hair, to match the flower crowns his sisters wore.

He wasn’t sure what Mumble’s sudden obsession with violet was, but the delicate embroidery and the crowns and necklaces of violets did suit her well.

“Something or other about a poem I believe. Or was it the poet?” Joxter said as he sat down at the table, and Snufkin startled, unaware he’d been talking to himself.

“I didn’t notice you coming.”

Joxter shrugged, both hands wrapped around his mug. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you doing alright with the crowd?”

Snufkin shifted, setting his fork down on the plate and pushing it away from himself slightly. “I’m managing, I’ll be fine. How’s the water?”

Joxter vaguely shook his hand as he drank from his mug. “Eh. About knee high. Lots of waves though.”

“Mumble wouldn’t mind if you left. She knows how it is.”

“Then why are you still here?” Joxter asked, but Snufkin knew it was more of a rhetorical question than a jab.

The wind blew gently, carrying a chill within it that swept over the both of them. Joxter’s face fell slack, clouded eyes drifting to the forest beyond them as if mesmerized, and Snufkin knew they were feeling the same tugging sensation, like the swaying branches were calling to them like a mother to her children, promising them freedom and adventure hidden just beyond the horizon, coaxing them closer, to disappear amongst the foliage and shed their skins, their names, and loose themselves and run wild, claws sharpened and bared to the world in challenge.

“It’s leaving time,” they said in unison, and Snufkin wasn’t sure if that was comforting or not.

Joxter ripped his gaze away from the forest with a shudder, looking down into his mug. “It’s going to be an early winter this year. You’d best be planning to move on soon.”

“Where do you think we should head this time?”

“We?” Joxter demanded.

Snufkin blinked, slightly taken aback. “Yes? Were we not going to head out together?”

Joxter grimaced. “Snufkin, I’ve been gone for eight years. I’ve barely been back for a few months, it’d be unfair to everyone I’ve hurt to leave so soon again.”

“So your idea is to stay behind and risk Winter’s Fever and Staying Sickness at the same time?”

Joxter winced.

“Besides,” Snufkin quickly continued. “We both know I’m capable of dragging you back come springtime and… and you kind of owe me a trip anyways. Since everything happened on the first one.”

“I suppose I do, don’t I,” Joxter murmured softly. “I ought to start thinking about my own bag then.”

The breeze blew again, carrying another chill with it. They’d probably be leaving within the week.

“Snufkin!” Moomin called, and Snufkin turned, spotting the troll easily in the crowd as he made his way towards him.

“How beautifully tragic yet wonderfully lovely it is, a friendship so drenched with utter love,” Joxter absently said, leaving Snufkin unsure if he was referencing to his situation with Moomin or Mumble and Too Ticki. Joxter stood up, stretching with a cat-like yawn before shooting Snufkin a mischievous, meddling grin. “But moomintrolls are peculiar creatures after all, aren’t they?”

Snufkin felt his face grow hot, and he swatted at Joxter, who only laughed and vanished into the crowd. And then Moomin was there, filling the seat where Joxter had been moments before.

“Snufkin! I’m so glad I caught you! I thought you might have ditched already.”

Snufkin shrugged casually. “I think most people know when to leave me with some breathing room these days.”

Moomin nodded in agreement. “But you’ll be leaving the valley soon, won’t you? The wind is already cold.”

“There’s going to be an early winter this year it seems. We’ll be off by the end of the week.”

Moomin nodded again, although this time his face fell before twisting up in a mix of worry and anxiety. “Snufkin, we really ought to talk.”

Snufkin found himself unable to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yeah. We should.”

The two of them stole away from the party, down one of the many paths that went into the forest, Moomin relying on Snufkin’s nighteyes and guiding hands in the inky darkness of the forest, and if either of them had sweaty hands, neither of them mentioned it.

After a particular turn in the trail, Snufkin led them off the path and headed in his own direction, Moomin trustingly following behind him. Snufkin led him to the flower meadow in one of the forest clearings, even though it now was mostly devoid of its flowers, only the yellowing grass remaining as the valley began to prepare for its winter sleep. They sat down together in the middle of the meadow, back to back as they settled into a silence amongst the rustling grass. Overhead, no longer blocked by the treetops, the moon shined enough for even Moomin to see clearly, surrounded by her twinkling, shining handmaidens, the stars, so close to each other yet so far apart.

The universe must be so young then, Snufkin thought, for there still was so much space in between them. Perhaps in an older universe there’d be so many more stars filling the gaps, like a tapestry woven from glittering diamonds. Or was that how their universe already looked, their mortal eyes unable to perceive it?

“Snufkin,” Moomin said, and Snufkin immediately pulled himself out of his thoughts, turning his head to the side to show he was listening.

“You did kiss me at the Midsummer party, didn’t you.”

“Yes.”

Moomin fiddled his paws together. “I’m sorry about what happened before. On the picnic. That wasn’t how I wanted it to go at all. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.”

“Why?”

“It must be rubbish for you.” Snufkin grabbed a fistful of grass and ripped it up, twisting the torn blade. “I know I’m not an easy person to care for. I know I’m difficult and that I have trouble opening up, and I’ve constantly got to leave. It can’t be easy dealing with me. It must be rubbish.”

“Not to me,” Moomin said suddenly, then paused before repeating himself in a softer voice. “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

  


  


His parents were slowly dancing in the living room as Snufkin double checked his bag in the kitchen. The record player had long stopped playing, but the two of them still had their arms wrapped around each other, slowly swaying side to side as Joxter hummed.

Moomin went to say something, but Snufkin shook his head, bringing a finger to his lips. As Joxter began to sing softly, Snufkin closed his bag and set it aside at the base of the stairs. Glancing up as he did so, he found his older sisters sitting on the top steps, just out of sight from the living room, relaxed but obviously listening in. Snufkin gave a slight wave to them, and the ones who seemed slightly more awak waved back as Snufkin darted back into the kitchen, leaving through the patio door with Moomin close behind him.

“It’s the first time we’ve heard him sing since he’s come back,” Snufkin explained after closing the door. He sat down on the steps to look up at the stars.

“He’s getting better then?”

“Slowly, but it’s progress. I think he used to sing a lot before- when he started, mom nearly began crying.”

Moomin sat down on the steps next to Snufkin. “Where are you heading this time?”

“Do you see the scorpion?” Snufkin leaned in closer, tracing the constellation for Moomin to find. “We’ll be following the tail southeast. I told dad about the crystal caves I found, he wanted to see them.”

“Get him to draw a picture for me, I’d love to see it.”

“I’d rather take you with me one day,” Snufkin blurted out, and Moomin smiled brightly at him.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

The door behind them opened, and Snufkin stood up as Joxter walked out, handing him his bag, with Mymble hovering in the doorway.

“You two better be safe. I want you home on the first day of spring.”

“The week before,” Joxter promised her, leaning up onto his toes to kiss her cheek. Mymble smiled, playfully pushing him down the steps.

“Go on, get a move on before you get snowed in.”

Joxter smiled, turning and heading down the trail that would lead them out of Moomin Valley, and Snufkin followed closely behind.

“You’d better write to me!” Moomin hollered after him, and Snufkin turned back to wave to his boyfriend.

  


  


_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When something doesn't work out in a story but I don't want to entirely delete it, I save it in a sort of "deleted scenes/bloopers" folder for possible recycling. However this time, I'm too in love with the scenes as they are, and I'm still considering them canon to my series. I'll be posting them when I can after this as "Moments Inbetween", but officially, this series has reached its end.  
> Thank you for joining me on this journey!


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